


Bound by Blood

by Syls Darkplace (sylsdarkplace)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dark Magic, Enemas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-13
Updated: 2014-08-13
Packaged: 2018-02-13 01:49:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2132601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylsdarkplace/pseuds/Syls%20Darkplace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU Dark magic: John doesn’t think Dean is living up to his responsibilities. He decides to help him out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bound by Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Okay I got distracted from my distraction and this is what happened. Not beta’d. All mistakes are my own.

John knew he put a lot on Dean – he did – but he also knew Dean could handle it. He just needed to focus on what was important – taking care of his little brother. He knew that despite how well Dean had taken on the role of surrogate parent, there was resentment. He understood that, but Dean needed to get over it. He thought he would. He thought that as the kid got older, he’d lose interest in sports and scouts and hanging out with friends. All he had to do was get good enough grades to get by and take care of Sammy.

There’d been a time when John wanted the boys to go to college. He’d even set up college funds for them. His boys would do better than he had. There wasn’t a draft anymore. They wouldn’t be forced into the military. They could get educations, meet smart, pretty girls like their mom, and have the kinds of families he had dreamed of. But that dream was dead with Mary. It wasn’t in the cards for them. He thought he’d drummed it into Dean’s head that they weren’t like other people. He and Sammy couldn’t have what other kids had. They had each other and that had to be enough.

And then a few weeks ago, he’d come back to their cruddy little efficiency to find Dean with a girl half dressed on the sofa, and Sammy asleep – or feigning sleep – just a few feet away. He’d told the girl to get dressed and that she wasn’t welcome there. He realized he sounded more like the father of a girl than a boy, but he couldn’t have this. He understood that at fourteen, Dean was a time bomb of hormones waiting to explode, but the boy had to understand that that’s what he had a right hand for. God knew, that living in such close quarters with his sons, John was all too familiar with his.

Occasionally, a guy could get away and score, but he couldn’t have Dean bringing civilians into their lives the way he had, and he couldn’t have him abandoning Sammy the way he had in Wisconsin.

“Drink up,” he said and handed Dean the mug of dark liquid.

Dean hesitated.  “What is it?”

“I told you about this ritual last week remember? It will help protect us from possession. I did it when I was at Bobby’s last month. Now drink up,” John said sternly. He hated lying to the boy, but sometimes little lies were necessary for the greater good.

“What about Sammy?” Dean asked and glanced over at his little brother asleep on the bed.

“Sammy’s next,” John said. “I did it first to make sure it was safe for you boys. I adjusted the amount for body weight. I’ll do that again with Sammy. Now …”

“Okay,” Dean said and took a drink. He grimaced and choked. “Oh my God, that’s disgusting.”

“Oh yeah, I should have mentioned that, but it gets less disgusting as you go,” John said. “Now quit being a wuss, Dean.”  The boy’s jaw set stubbornly, and he took another drink. Accusing Dean of being soft or weak was always effective in getting him to do what John wanted. The boy was pretty, too pretty, and he’d gotten enough flack about it in his life to be very sensitive to any suggestion that he was girly. John didn’t have many qualms about using this tactic because Dean needed to be tough – especially looking like that.

Dean finished off the cup of potion and handed the empty cup back to John who took it to the sink in the kitchenette and rinsed it out.

“So what do we do now?” Dean asked.

“Take your clothes off,” John said without turning around. This is where things were going to start getting uncomfortable.

“Umm, seriously?” Dean asked.

“Yes, Dean.”

“Okay.” John heard rustling and the sound of a zipper. “Did you have to like take your clothes off in front of Uncle Bobby?”

“Dean.”

“Sorry, sir, I … oh shit,” Dean said.

John turned around then and Dean was standing with his pants around his ankles and one hand on the back of the sofa.

“What?”

“I don’t know,” Dean said. “I feel kind of dizzy.”

“Yeah, it will do that,” John said. He took his son’s arm and helped him out of jeans. “Okay, let’s go in the bathroom.”

“Baffroom?” Dean asked and stumbled.

John knew that the potion he’d given his son – one that of course, he’d never tried – was full of powerful herbs that among other things would make Dean compliant and the entire episode if remembered at all would be a strange, vague dream. He didn’t even want to think about the other ingredients in the brew and the effects they would have.

He got Dean to sit on the toilet lid, and he ran a hand through the boy’s short hair. He could stop right now and let his son sleep it off, but then they’d be right back where they started. No, he needed to be strong. He needed to do this for his boys, and it wasn’t as though any harm would come from it in the end.

John got out the electric shaver and began to prepare for the ritual by removing the hair from the boy’s body – his arms, legs, even the soft, sparse hair on his groin and balls. Dean had questioned it at first, wanted to know what he was doing, and John had just said it was necessary for the ritual. By the time he’d finished shaving the boy, he was slumped against the toilet tank. His pupils were pinpricks and his mouth slack. John took a drink of whiskey from the flask he’d stuck in his back pocket. This wasn’t getting any easier.

John was a little worried that the potion had been too strong, but Dean’s pulse and breathing were fine. He got the boy up then and made him kneel in the tub with his torso over the side for support. He filled the large enema bag with warm water and a little soap and hung it from the shower curtain rod. After coating the nozzle with Vaseline, he sat on the edge of the tub and pressed it against Dean’s anus. The boy whimpered as it slid into his body, and John rubbed comforting circles on his back with the other hand.

He’d seen his son naked plenty of times. It was impossible not to in such close quarters. But he was so vulnerable this way – drugged and bent over – so exposed. John felt a little sick at what he was doing, but he pushed the feeling down. He had to stay strong and get the job done. The job was not an easy one. He would be acting as a priest for the old gods. What he was doing would be tricky. He would appear to be offering Dean to them as a servant, but it would all be slight of hand. He was counting on them being weak and distracted by recent attacks by fundamentalists on their ancient shrines.

He was determined to perform the ritual and put up a veiling spell between them and the gods before they realized that they’d been snookered. It wouldn’t be easy, but he was sure he could pull it off. He had to.

He released the nozzle then and allowed the water mixture to run into Dean’s body. He couldn’t help looking again at the boy’s body. He was muscular for his age from all the sparring and running and workouts that John insisted on. The globes of his ass were round and firm. The puckered flesh of his hole was pink where it stretched around the nozzle.

John pulled his eyes away. “What the hell?”

Dean whimpered. Looking up, John saw that the enema bag was nearly empty. He felt a little sick. It had to be uncomfortable for the kid. He hated doing this, but the ritual instructions were very specific about preparing the offering. He had to be clean inside and out, hairless, and enhanced. John bent and ran his hand under Dean, over his belly which was round, distended and heavy from all the liquid inside him. John felt a sick twist in his gut, but let his hand linger there a moment.

“Okay now, you’re going to hold that in, Dean,” John said. He really wasn’t sure the kid was capable of obeying or if he even understood what he was saying at this point, but he pulled the nozzle out. Only a small trickle of water followed it for a moment.

“Good boy,” John whispered. He continued to rub his son’s back as his body flushed with heat and his muscles began to tremble. Moments later, he began to pant, and a sheen of sweat covered his back. John helped him to his feet and onto to the toilet. There was a wet gush and splatter in the bowl, and Dean doubled over with a sob. John knelt on the floor in front of him and laid the boy’s head on his shoulder. He stroked his damp hair. He reached back twice and flushed the toilet. It seemed far too long before Dean stopped shuddering and his breathing returned to normal, and John was thankful that the boy wouldn’t remember any of this.

He helped Dean to his feet and was stunned to find that his cock was half hard in his jeans. He was confused and disgusted by his body’s reaction to what he was doing to his son. He thought it must be some kind of stress reaction because he wasn’t like this. He had no interest in kids or men. He didn’t get off on hurting people.

He maneuvered Dean into the shower and without shutting the curtain washed him clean. It wasn’t easy propping the kid’s drugged body up with one hand and washing him with the other, but he did it as quickly as possible. He was relieved to find when he was done that his cock was completely flaccid.

Once again he sat Dean on the toilet lid. He had to prop him up between the wall and the toilet tank to keep him from falling over. John got out a drug store bag with the items he needed and took one last look at his boy. Long lashes drooped over freckled cheeks, and soft, bitten lips hung slack.

John took Dean’s chin in his hand and began to darken the edges of Dean’s eyes with black eyeliner pencil. It wasn’t easy with the kid so relaxed. At one point, Dean gave him a dopey smile but showed no indication he knew what was going on. When he was finished, Dean’s eyes looked alien to him. He applied red lip stain to the boy’s mouth then, and it wasn’t his son. It was the face of a teenage whore. He flushed with shame. This was just another reason he’d burn in hell some day, he thought. He took a drink of whiskey and rubbed some of the stain on Dean’s nipples too.

It was almost time – just one more thing to do. He took Dean back into the living area, and began to coat his skin with the herb infused oil he’d prepared. As he rubbed it on, Dean’s skin flushed and he began to squirm and make small moaning sounds. By the time John got to his groin, his son’s cock was hard, arched upward.

When he had the boy coated head to toes in the oil, he stretched him out on the bed. Dean’s hands fluttered beside him on the bed as though searching for something. There was an almost imperceptible roll to his hips that made his cock bob, precum dripped from the tip onto his pale, flat belly. His skin glistened with the oil, and his rouged lips were parted. He was ready now – the perfect offering, the perfect sacrifice.

John’s cock twitched in his jeans again. He ran a hand over his face and went into the bathroom to retrieve the whiskey. He took a good long swig before returning to the living area. He quickly stripped Sammy’s p.j.s and undershorts off him and laid the younger boy face down on his brother. John heard the Sacrifice gasp and saw his hips buck up against the weight of Sam’s body.

John picked up the grimoire he’d stolen from Bobby and began chanting the ritual, but he couldn’t help seeing movement from the corner of his eye. Sam was moving, thrusting his skinny little hips down onto the Sacrifice, and it was moaning and rolling its hips up against Sammy. John palmed his dick through his jeans. Part of him wanted to yell stop, but he had to finish the ritual. He’d gone too far to back out now.

He continued chanting, but less and less he needed to look at the grimoire. It was as though he knew the words, they flowed through him, and his eyes didn’t leave the figures on the bed. Sammy was no longer lying flush on the Sacrifice. He’d pulled his knees up on each side of the Sacrifice’s body, and was thrusting his hips down with frantic motions while his hands gripped the other’s arms hard enough to bruise. The Sacrifice moaned and writhed submissively below the smaller body.

As the Latin fell from John’s mouth, the movements on the bed became more frantic, the moans louder, until there were cries as the last words were spoken. The figures on the bed went limp, and John found himself with the grimoire in one hand and his sticky cock in the other. He dropped the book and rushed to the bathroom where he vomited whiskey and bile until his gut ached.

~~~

In the five years since John had performed the ritual, Dean had hardly taken his eyes off his little brother. He didn’t leave him alone at motels, he made sure Sam had a way home from school, and he must have made good friends with his hand because he hardly seemed to notice girls anymore. John felt a little guilty about that, but not as guilty as he would if something  had happened to one of the boys; so he figured it all balanced out.

He had cleaned both of the boys up that night and got them back in their pajamas. By the time they woke up all evidence of the ritual was gone. Dean didn’t even seem to remember drinking the potion; so there was no need for John to use the lie he’d had prepared about Sammy doing the ritual.

For a moment, he thought Sam remembered something. The boy had given him funny glances for awhile, but maybe he was just remembering it as a dream because he never said anything. And if Sam suspected anything, he’d have said something. Even at ten, Sammy was like a dog with a bone.

Now at fourteen, Sam was so different from Dean. If he was a vat of hormones, it was impossible to see because the kid seemed to show no interest in girls. Oh sure, he got the random boner, what boy didn’t? But girls hardly seemed to catch his eye – or other boys for that matter. All in all, it had worked out.

~~~

John pushed the motel room door open and stepped inside. The figures on the bed were so intent on one another they didn’t hear or sense the movement. He leaned back against the door in disbelief. Dean was on his knees with his face buried in the mattress. His hands clutched the sheets as Sam plowed into his ass. There were divots in the pale skin of Dean’s hips where Sam’s fingers gripped him. The sound of skin slapping skin was loud in the room.

John had done this, he realized. He made Dean a whore – Sam’s whore. Of course Dean was only focused on Sam and Sam didn’t look at girls or other guys. How long had this been going on, he wondered. Right under his nose, his sons were fucking right here where he lived. Did they touch each other in the night while he slept? So many things seemed different to him now – the way they moved apart when he entered a room, a hand lingering a little too long on an arm, possessive looks when strangers showed too much interest. He thought Dean was just protecting Sammy, but that wasn’t it. Dean belonged to Sammy.

He was snapped out of his thoughts by the moans coming from the bed. Sam had a hand on Dean’s shoulder and was pulling him back onto his dick with each thrust.

“Yeah, fuck, fuck me Sammy,” Dean moaned.

“Yeah, you like that, huh?” Sam groaned.

“Yeah, yeah, fuck,” Dean’s words slurred out to inarticulate almost animalistic sounds as Sam pounded into him. The muscles in Dean’s legs and buttocks bunched as he pushed back, and there was something incongruous about the coltish boy fucking this strong muscular man.

John knew he should stop what was happening, but realistically he knew it was a waste of time. The boys really couldn’t control their behavior. He’d bound them together. He’d never intended it to be sexual. It wasn’t in the original spell. He thought he’d been clever and fooled the gods, but they’d clearly played a trick on him. They had their revenge and their fun. In some way they had his sons. And him.

He didn’t remember doing it, didn’t know how it happened, but his cock was in his hand and his balls were tightening. Much as he wanted to, he couldn’t stop. There was something so beautiful about what he was witnessing, something pure and essential, and … no, no, he squeezed his eyes shut and heard Sam climax with a shout. Cum spilled hot and slick across his hand. He swallowed down a groan.

When he opened his eyes, Sam was arched across Dean’s body, panting. Still buried in his brother, he was stripping Dean’s cock, and the older boy came with a cry. His body shuddered under Sam who kissed the middle of his brother’s back and then turned his head. He looked straight at his father as though he’d known he was there all along.

John bolted for the bathroom. He fell to his knees in front of the toilet and wretched, but nothing came up. Again, his gut clenched and gagged but only bile came up. The door opened and Sam came in.

“You okay?” he asked.

John was at a loss for words, but he nodded. Sam got a wet washcloth and washed his junk. He rinsed the cloth out and started to leave the bathroom with it, but he stopped.

“Thanks, Dad, for making Dean mine,” the boy said. The door shut quietly behind him.

The End.

_Talk to me._


End file.
